I went salsa dancing with a friend for the first time last night. We went to Modä and took advantage of the the offered lessons we discovered through clevelandsalsa.com. I think this is something I could become addicted to, seeing as I woke up this morning with the salsa beat still churning through me.
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My quest to eat all the crap in the vending machine downstairs led me to the Landshire Supreme Chicken Salad Sandwich, today. I paired this with a bag of Porkies Crispy Fried Pork Rinds.
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Well, I’m finished putting together my Tremont specific weblog and bulletin board. I was going to wait till May to tell everyone, but since I’m only left with the neverending “adding of content” phase, I thought I might as well get it over with. Now I’ve just got to get the word out around Tremont. The site is tremonter.com. Any and all suggestions are welcome.

The Most Significant SF & Fantasy Books of the Last 50 Years, 1953-2002

I finally managed to track down every book on the above list, many are/were unfortunately out of print. But I did it. I’ve read them all. Mini-Reviews of all 50 are inside.
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First you’ve got the prime
the engine, one, two,
three—and if you’ve got
the right idea,
and pull that cord
so hard your shoulder
jolts, you’ll get its attention.
That blade’ll turn and growl.
It is best to mow the lawn
in a rectangular spiral,
four corners sharking in
on that last king dandelion.
Circumscribe trees twice;
let them know you know they’re waiting
for any excuse
to drop sticks and leaves.
Become one with the lawnmower,
take its chuff and cough
inside of you.
If you run out
of gas, take a break, have
some lemonade, stomp on the
molehills. Begin again.
Mow your lawn until it
is a hockey puck
steak, until the trees are
limbless children and king
dandelion abdicates the throne.
Stop. Put the mower away,
metal panting like a weimaraner
gone hart-hunting.
Wash the dust from your throat
with some sour lemonade
and enjoy your just desert.

This may not turn into a poem, it mayn’t even turn into song lyrics. It might just be a writing exercise, but I’m gonna beat that metaphor! If you can think of something in this vein that I missed, feel free to add it. I think this sort of reminds me of Short Skirt, Long Jacket by Cake except it is aiming to be a bit more ridiculous.
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I have returned to snowy Cleveland. Yes, I said snowy. After an eight hour drive from Effingham, IL the last thing I wanted to come home to was slushy snow and a 50° apartment. Anyway. The wedding.
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I just finished The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever by Stephen R. Donaldson [who is, incidentally, from Cleveland]. It is comprised of three books: Lord Foul’s Bane, The Illearth War and The Power that Preserves. With this series I have finally, after three years, finished the Science Fiction Book Club list: The Most Significant SF & Fantasy Books of the Last 50 Years, 1953-2002 which I will provide a large review of sometime this week. First a review of Thomas Covenant.
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This is a reminder that my Poetry Contest is over on April 30th. So get writing people!

This one took a bit longer than a half hour, but I wanted to finish it. Still needs workshopped/reviewed/edited.
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Nothing glamorous happened at the weblogger meetup last night. We talked a bit about putting together a Cleveland Wiki, but other than that we just schmoozed, which, while not glamorous, was still important. We can build a better rapport with each other if we know each other more personally. The Terminal Stout at Rock Bottom was pretty tasty too.

There is a vending machine downstairs, recently installed, that contains a variety of dirt cheap refrigerated lunch products. They all look completely gross. So, since I’m the kind of guy who eats hot dog flavored potato chips just because they’re there, I’ve determined to eat one of each thing in that vending machine. Today I had BIG AZ Bubba Twins chili cheese dogs.
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This poem is pretty bad, but my half hour is up. Oh well.
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Yesterday I became enthralled with James Tate’s poetry. Thanks go out to this MeFi post. I’ve got to get my mitts on a book of his stuff and then maybe he’ll grab a spot next to E.E. Cummings and Richard Brautigan. Here is a poem of his.
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Four pigs and a goat went a-hunting
dressed in white ribbons and bunting
the pigs were all dead
from hooves to the head
for the goat got tired of their grunting.

I’m going to three weddings in two months. All my old buddies from high school are getting hitched. It is both strange and disconcerting to know that the same people I used to go TPing with, the same people I used to get in mud fights and bottle rocket fights with are now being turned into honest men by some pretty pretty women.
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By request from Wait in the Lobby.
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Early morning, early Spring,
in the wet woods, crunching
sticks. Searching for a mushroom ring

to fill our buckets. Hunching
under a cobweb lanyard,
the first line of a spider

doily, dripping, unmarred.
Steaming earth and wild onion,
mud and prickle-thistle scents

and our difference of opinion-
last evening’s rents-
mending as we make

our way past old quarrels.
In the woods, just awake,
searching for morels.
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A milk maid and farm boy went dancing,
the stars in the sky did their prancing,
nine months later that maid,
gave birth to a babe;
there is more to this tale than romancing.

The Auburn Block Club is a whole different beast than the Professor-Thurman-Valley View club. I guess my initial confusion as to which I belonged to was well-founded; My building sits right on the dividing line.
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Man. I had the weirdest fricking dream I’ve had in recent memory last night. All last night. One continous dream broken by my typical 3am rising for something to drink. Yeesh.
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The weekend is here and in celebration, I’m going to put together as much Cleveland Poetry [and perhaps a bit of music] information as possible. Maybe you can catch something on the flip side.
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via Scrumbling.
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I locked myself out of my apartment last night for several hours and then had an night filled with wakings and half-sleepings and noises that made me think the neighbors were getting raided and standard 3am dry-throat-get-a-drink activity that wasn’t standard because someone was quietly arguing with someone else about leaving someplace. Some of that is real and some of that is dream, I think.
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Peppermint told me to write a poem about a sandwich. I think this one should be made into a much longer poem, but that’ll have to wait till I have more thyme.
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This was a big meeting last night and the upshot of it is that I finally discovered which block club I’m supposed to be going to, officially. It ain’t this one. No big deal though, because both block clubs have stuff to do with my street and I’ll take any excuse to visit Lucky’s.
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I’ve got to post an excerpt from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, since I like it so much. I can’t find an online excerpt of J.R.R. Tolkien’s translation [my favorite, duh] so this inferior version must do. Middle English version here. Groovy painting here.
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Two poems in 45 minutes today. Boo.
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All of these are from The Last Night of the Earth Poems by Charles Bukowski.
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All My Sins Remembered is the second book I’ve read by Joe Haldeman. The first, The Forever War, was a really good book about the social and psychological effects of extended space travel when it screws with subjective versus objective time. All My Sins Remembered is similar but different.
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This week I’ll post poems by other folks as well as some from myself time and again, along with other normal stuff maybe if I feel like it. Today’s poem is by James Agee and comes from the excellent book Let Us Now Praise Famous Men. My manifesto also comes from that book:

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1/2 C. brown rice
2 C. water
1 C. frozen mixed vegetables
1 T. balsamic vinegar
1/2 T. extra virgin olive oil
whatever spices

1. Cook the rice in an uncovered pot. This method works excellently. Thank you, Patrick.
2. Cook the vegetables in another pot, cover and simmer once it boils.
3. When everything is cooked, combine it in a bowl, add the balsamic vinegar, olive oil, and spices, cover with another bowl and shake vigorously.

I used to eat this all the time in college, high energy, healthy, light and tasty. I’m starting to eat it more often now that I’m running again.

I wrote this poem a month or two ago, and since I don’t want to sit and write at my computer on a day as pretty as this I’ll post it.
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In the Realms of the Unreal is a documentary on the life of outsider artist Henry Darger and is currently playing at the Cedar Lee. It is a great doc, with great animation and a great focus. Go catch it before it disappears.
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I wrote this about four years ago, but it still seems a bit applicable now. Especially today. Here is another go ’round it. I’m only allowed thirty minutes, remember.
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I shall post random haiku/senryuu here as they come to me. Friday is a day for relaxing. Feel free to do the same.
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The Book of the New Sun is a tetralogy composed of The Shadow of the Torturer, The Claw of The Conciliator, The Sword of the Lictor and The Citadel of the Autarch. It is sort of a blend of both fantasy and science fiction in terms of genre, but with chapter titles like “Eschatology and Genesis” it is also much more than that.
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I busted out my saxophone last night and played it for awhile. Since my guitar skill has plateaued for the time being, I thought tossing another instrument into the mix might increase my skill-to-hours-practiced ratio. Since I have a tape deck now, I can listen to my blues method tapes that I’ve had for so long. My jaw and tongue and lips are sore. Oh yeah, gotta write a poem.

A bit on the ghazal. This one isn’t specifically erotic, but it might be sensual in the broadest terms.
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I hate motherfucking, here jump-through-this hoop, and this hoop, and this hoop, fill it out in triplicate with a virgin witness and then so sorry we’re closed come back when it isn’t The Feast of St. Bureaucrat, cock-blocking red tape. So here is a not good poem.
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It is National Poetry month, stimpy. So I’m gonna crap out poems from time to time in lieu of writing other crap instead. I make no claims on the quality of anything that appears, since I’m going to give myself no more than a half hour on each. Workshop ‘em if you want; rewrite ‘em if you want; ignore ‘em if you want. And remember to write your own stuff for my contest!
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I’ve been trying to get a dentist appointment for the last month and a half. It is, apparently, impossible to do this. The first place I called didn’t call back for two weeks, after I’d already called several other dentists. These other dentists have all been booked for the next 3 months or so and they all call back about a week after I first call them. Either that or they tell me I have to register on some roster and wait till the next month to be waitlisted. Unfortunately, there is no place to register on a roster on the Aetna website. Their site tells me to contact the provider directly and the provider tells me to go through Aetna. My teeth are going to rot out before I get a straight answer here. Some good health insurance does me when I can’t even find a place that will let me use it. Gah.

Friday I went to see The Animation Show at the Cleveland Cinematheque. It was really good. Here is what is playing in 2005.

Mini-reviews within.
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I had dinner with Five Dollar Beer last night. We went to Heck’s Cafe over on Bridge Avenue, because they apparently have the best burgers in town. The burgers were good, but if they are the best burgers in town then Cleveland sorely needs a really good burger joint. Something akin to CJ’s out of South Bend.
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I’m going to learn myself some poetry and poetics this month, it being National Poetry Month and all… I’m going to inflict upon you my learnings and the path I tread along the way. I came across this great haiku link awhile back, and have been browsing it ever since. Most of the content is provided by Jane Reichhold.
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It is that time of year again. I find it hard to believe that this is the 4th year that I’ve had a writing contest. The first three years were haiku contests, this year I’m broadening it in form and being a bit more specific in regard to content. I hope you like the prize. April is National Poetry Month and my humble contest lasts the thirty days. Details past the jump.
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